Chapter 23: The Biohacker Unmasked
The data streams in Marcus’s lab bled from crimson to a dull, persistent amber. A week of it. A week of his eyes tracking through stolen architectural files, payroll ghosts, and termination records with ‘non-disclosure’ stamped in black, digital ink. The city outside the windows cycled from day to night and back again, a silent, indifferent loop.
He found the fracture point on a Thursday.
It was a name: Roger Green. A personnel file from eight years back. A junior designer in the Template Architecture division. His termination code wasn’t the standard redundancy package. It was a clinical, seven-digit identifier that Marcus had seen only once before, attached to a project lead who’d asked too many questions about neural feedback loops. The man had taken a sudden ‘sabbatical’ to a non-extraditable country.
Marcus cross-referenced. Medical logs, buried under layers of obsolete servers. A patient admission, same date as Green’s termination: Audra Green, age 20. Admitted for ‘acute neuromotor dissociation following experimental somatic-enhancement procedure.’ The listed physician had his license revoked six months later. The file ended there.
Erin watched him from the doorway of the lab, a silhouette against the living area’s softer light. She had been quiet since the purge, integrating. “You have a target,” she said. Her voice held the Romanian shape, but the corporate sheen was absent.
“Roger Green,” Marcus said, his own voice rough. He rotated the hologram. “Former NewYou designer. His sister was a beta tester. She wanted a template to improve her proprioception, her balance. For ballet. Something went wrong. The file says ‘locked-in syndrome.’ Full cognitive function, zero motor control. A mind trapped in a static body.”
Erin moved into the lab, the amber light catching the planes of her face. “And NewYou?”
“Covered it up. Paid off the family, I’d guess. But not enough, or not in the right way. Roger didn’t just quit. He was erased. And then…” Marcus pulled up another file. A manifest from a warehouse raid Petra had orchestrated months ago. “He’s the biohacker. The one who stole the old prototype hardware. The one who had my early monster-girl collection code. He’s been living off-grid, tinkering with NewYou’s garbage for years.”
“What do you want from him?” Erin asked.
“To talk. To find out what he knows. He was there when the templates were first being mapped to biological hardware. He might know how the Michelle++ code got corrupted, how it became… applicable. How it sticks.” Marcus ran a hand over his stubble. “If we understand that, we might be able to stabilize Jane. Permanently. Or even partially reverse it. Whatever she wants.”
Erin gave a single, sharp nod. “Give me the location.”
“It’s a fortified workshop in the old industrial docks. He’ll have security. Non-lethal, please. We need him conscious and talking.”
A faint curve touched Erin’s lips. “I can be persuasive without breaking bones. Usually.”
She left without another word, a shadow merging into the deeper shadows of the penthouse elevator.
Marcus found Jane in her apartment on the sixty-second floor. She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a tall, perfect statue backlit by the grid of the city. The fireplace was a low, real flame in the black stone hearth, casting a warmth that didn’t quite reach the glass.
“She’s gone to get him?” Jane asked, not turning.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Marcus settled onto the large white leather sectional, the material cool and smooth under his palms. The fire’s heat pressed against the front of his body. “We need to be careful with him. He’s not an enemy. He’s a victim.”
Jane turned. The firelight played over her platinum hair, her flawless skin. She looked like a corporate executive posed for a portrait. “He’s a variable. One with a grudge and technical skill. We’ll ascertain his value, then decide on integration.” She walked over and sat beside him, the leather sighing. Her proximity brought her scent, a complex, distracting warmth that made the air feel thicker. “This is a pivot point, Marcus. With what you and Petra pulled from their servers, and what this Green man might know, we move from reactive to proactive.”
“Proactive how?” Marcus asked, his eyes tracing the way the firelight caught the blue of her irises.
“We build,” Jane said, her voice smooth, certain. “We have assets. Erin. Petra. My… condition. Your technical genius. This Green man, if he’s amenable. We have a treasure trove of NewYou’s most sensitive data. We don’t just hide from Serena. We negotiate with her.”
Marcus felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “Negotiate? Jane, she’s the one who tried to have you erased. She’s covering up crimes.”
“She’s a professional managing a portfolio of problems.” Jane shifted, turning her body toward him, one leg folding under her. “We are now a significant problem. One that cannot be easily deleted. The logical business move is to acquire the problem, or to form a strategic partnership.” She placed a hand on his knee. The contact was a point of focused heat. “Think about it. We have what she needs: silence, control, and a demonstration that her technology has applications far beyond temporary makeovers. We could offer her a controlled, deniable black-ops division. A way to utilize the… unstable templates. Like me.”
“You’re not an unstable template,” Marcus said, his voice tight. “You’re a person.”
“I am both. And the person sees the opportunity.” Her fingers pressed. “You have a history with her. A fondness she manipulates. We can use that.”
The knot tightened. “I don’t want to ‘use’ that. I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She’s dangerous.”
“Everyone is dangerous,” Jane said. Her voice dropped, becoming intimate, a confidential murmur undercut by the crackle of the fire. “You think I’m not? You think Erin isn’t? Petra?” Her hand slid up his thigh an inch. “Danger is a tool. Serena’s danger is rooted in corporate survival. It’s predictable. We can work with predictable.”
Marcus looked away, at the flames. “I just wanted to fix my mistake. To help you. Not start a… a shadow corporation.”
“But you have.” Jane’s other hand came up, her fingers gently turning his face back to hers. Her gaze was absolute. “You gathered us. You have the data. You have the vision. This is the next phase. And you won’t hold this aversion to corporate entanglement for long, Marcus. I won’t let you.”
Her words settled over him, not as a threat, but as a statement of fact. The heat from her hand, the intensity of her pheromones, the flawless conviction in her eyes—it all worked on him, a soft, relentless pressure reshaping his reluctance. He could feel his own resistance, brittle, beginning to warm and bend.
“First,” he said, struggling to hold onto a concrete point. “First, we see what Roger Green knows.”
“Of course,” Jane smiled. It was a beautiful, terrifying smile. “Due diligence.”
They waited.
The fire burned lower. The city lights outside grew more distinct as the night deepened. Marcus’s thoughts churned, a turbulent mix of fear and a dark, budding excitement that he knew was partly his own, and partly a suggestion breathed into his mind from the perfect woman beside him.
A soft chime echoed from the private elevator in Jane’s apartment.
They both stood.
They both stood as the elevator doors slid open.
Erin stepped into the apartment’s open space, Roger Green slung over her shoulder like a sack of grain. The man was limp, his head lolling, arms dangling towards the polished concrete floor. His worn cargo pants and faded shirt were rumpled. His pupils were wide, black pools swallowing the iris, staring at nothing. A fresh, distinct bite mark pulsed a dark red on the side of his neck.
She crossed the room in three strides and dumped him onto the large white sectional. His body hit the leather with a soft thump, his head rolling back against the cushion.
“He was modifying a power relay in his workshop’s sub-basement,” Erin said, her voice flat. She brushed a strand of her dark hair from her face. “The noise covered my approach. He never heard me.”
Marcus took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the bite mark. “Erin, you said non-lethal.”
“It is non-lethal.” She didn’t look at him. Her violet eyes were fixed on Roger’s slack face. “The venom induces a compliant, suggestible state. He will not remember the specifics. He will be pliable. It was the most efficient extraction method.”
Jane moved closer, her posture analytical, like a surgeon assessing a subject. “Vital signs?”
“Strong. Elevated heart rate. He will be conscious in moments.” Erin finally looked at Marcus, then at Jane. Her jaw was tight. “I considered questioning him myself at the source. To ask him why he did what he did to me. To us.”
She leaned over the couch, placing one hand on Roger’s shoulder to keep him from sliding. Her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear, a low, thick murmur of Romanian. She blinked, hard, and straightened up, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
Her hand remained on his shoulder, a point of contact.
Roger’s breathing hitched. A low groan escaped his lips. His eyelids fluttered. The blown pupils began to constrict, focusing slowly on the ceiling high above.
Instead of jerking away or struggling, his hand rose, clumsy and slow. It came to rest on top of Erin’s hand where it pressed into his shoulder. His fingers were stained with solder burns and grease.
“You’re okay,” Roger mumbled, his voice slurred and thick with the venom. He blinked up at Erin’s fierce, beautiful face hovering above him. A faint, dazed smile touched his lips. “I’m so… so glad you’re okay.”
Erin stiffened. Her gaze snapped to Marcus, confusion and a flicker of something like pain in her eyes. This was not the reaction she had prepared for.